


In Which Miles Edgeworth Becomes a Bit Territorial

by Red



Series: Untitled Werewolf Nonsense [1]
Category: Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Animalistic, Biting, Established Relationship, M/M, Phoenix Wright Kink Meme, Werewolf Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-24
Updated: 2008-04-24
Packaged: 2017-11-14 08:56:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/513506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red/pseuds/Red
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phoenix comes home stinking of vampire, and Miles... actually sort of takes it okay, if you ask Phoenix; though Miles would have preferred things to be a little less <i>Amok Time</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Miles Edgeworth Becomes a Bit Territorial

The first time Wright came by his house reeking like... _that_... the matter had been relatively easy to dismiss. Perhaps it had been a chance encounter; perhaps he'd simply brushed by someone at one of those cheap burger stands. Wright and he had been engaging in base enough activities as it was without Edgeworth giving in to such inconveinant animal instincts. That in mind, he thought nothing more of the scent and scowled Wright off of his doorstep, claiming a large workload and an early morning.

The second occasion about a month later was certainly disconcerting. Edgeworth had gone years considering his own nature as a mere one-night-a-month inconvenience, and the unwelcome intrusion of that smell was troublesome. Still, though it was getting harder to dismiss that deep instinct to follow Wright, to track the source and to mark his claim, it was very simple to dismiss _Wright_. Logically, he knew Wright had an active career and an abundance of friends who encouraged him to frequent overcrowded theme parks, who made him spot for bowls of noodles at unhygienic roadside stands. Thinking in a civilized manner, it was easy to see that Wright had simply brushed by _whomever_ again.

But the third time...

When he thought about it later, he couldn't decide exactly what made him lose control that night. There were so many factors to be considered: that _stench_ again, becoming so difficult to consider mere chance encounter; the approach of the full moon in three day's time, leaving him weaker to base instincts than usual; the fact that Wright, who had just won some case or another, was in a particularly celebratory mood and wasn't being put off.

\---

"Edgeworth, _please_ let me in," Wright wheedled, standing pathetically on the doorstep, bag of carry-out in hand. For once, Edgeworth wished Wright had gone to his abysmal favorite Indian place--slim chance, but perhaps that heavy hand with curry would have overloaded his acute sense of smell.

As it was, all he could do was try and keep his distance, standing well within the entryway with arms crossed. He didn't want to slam the door on Wright, but he was fully prepared for any eventuality.

"I don't think so," he said, almost wincing when he heard how strained his own voice sounded, "I'm... not feeling well."

"Hey, you were fine this morning," Phoenix objected.

He quickly situated his foot in the door as Miles attempted to close it. "But, Miles, if you _are_ feeling sick," he added hurriedly, struggling to force the door open, "That's all the more reason to let me in. There's nothing drunken tofu can't cure, right?"

Edgeworth was appalled as he nearly growled when Wright somehow managed to win the battle over the door and brazenly step forward. Fighting both the impulse to back away and that of reaching out to rip off that cheap, reeking suit and _mark_ Wright, Edgeworth stood indecisively, arms crossed. He tried desperately to maintain what decorum he had left.

"Wright, _please_ ," he begged, as Wright and _that smell_ moved closer. He couldn't stand begging, he hated feeling weak like this, but Wright had seen him in far more embarrassing situations before. And begging was far better--far more _human_ , he thought ruefully--than the alternative.

If he had been in his right mind, Edgeworth would have been able to predict the actions of that idiot. Carelessly, with his usual lack of any sense of danger, Wright put the take-out down and placed his hands on Edgeworth's shoulders.

He could barely hear Wright's words. Something typically Wright, he was sure: "Miles, are you okay?" or "Please, don't shut me out." However, the sound of Phoenix' voice was lost under the noise of his own blood thrumming wildly, all lust and territoriality, all raw and undeniable need.

 _This_ was exactly why Wright should never have saddled him with these unnecessary feelings. Eventually, no matter how he tried to repress his unfortunate nature, he was as helpless against his instincts as any animal.

He couldn't push Wright away, he knew, so he gathered his last scraps of rationality to find an excuse as he tore at Wright's jacket.

"I'm sorry," he rasped, finally able to breathe again knowing the offending smell was clinging only to Wright's coat, now a crumple of cheap fabric on the floor, "I had a horrid day."

To his relief, Wright just laughed and pressed back against him, helping him unbutton and unzip and pull off clothes when his hands fumbled too much. The need to--and Miles suddenly forgot all words for the act save for one--mate was overwhelming. Even in his animal haze, he wondered what he'd do, should Wright pull away, should he notice how wrong this all was.

"See," Phoenix said, far too smug, "This is exactly why I tell you not to shut me out. But, uh. You _do_ know the door's still open?"

Somewhere deep in the back of his mind, he was mortified; somewhere, he had the sense to stop ripping clumsily at Wright's pants and shut the damn door.

Yet he couldn't take his hands off of Wright's body, thinking only half-intelligible thoughts of need and property. Ultimately, Wright made some comment on Edgeworth's uncharacteristic fervor, something along the lines of "and where have _you_ been the past month," and pulled away to close the door himself.

Though he'd been reluctant to let Wright move even that far from his reach (horrified by the unbidden animal urge to completely _own_ Wright, to keep him locked away from whatever had touched his coat), even his most base side was glad to have a moment to breathe and watch the movements of Wright's body as he locked the door.

It was hardly worth lying to himself. He'd spent many nights after Wright had fallen asleep, just letting himself breathe their intermingled scent, letting his other side indulge feelings of affectionate, wondering possession. Wright was an affront to the world of law, but he was also all lean muscle and dark hair, and that musky smell of sweat, come, and the flush of blood so close under the surface of his skin. And Edgeworth couldn't help the deep, instinctual thought that all of that was _his_.

Grabbing at Wright again, turning him roughly as he pulled his pants over his ass, he nearly missed Wright's words. Even hearing them, it took a few centering breaths to remember English, to even comprehend the form and nuances of human speech.

"Miles, are you really going to fuck me in your entryway?"

Considering Wright was already kneeling on the cold slate tile, his pants and boxers trapped by his shoes and bunched awkwardly around his ankles, Edgeworth wondered why he bothered to decipher Wright at all. As he pushed his own pants down around his knees, he couldn't contain his growl. Thank god it was a 'normal' sex noise, as it was the only answer he could formulate before stringing together the surprisingly complex sentence, "Yes, I am."

Wright cursed lowly, in a tone Edgeworth could still recognize. The animal emotions of _excitement_ and _surprise_ and _want_ were all that mattered in Wright's voice.

The urge to just _mount_ him was overwhelming. Edgeworth shivered and held himself back, almost whining with frustration--why didn't he keep lube by the front door?--and eventually settled on sucking two fingers, coating them thick with saliva, and thrusting them roughly into Wright. Swearing in what sounded like pleasure spiked heavily with pain, Wright arched his back, pressing back desperately. Edgeworth growled again at the display, the head of his cock already damp with precome. Spitting on Wright's stretched asshole, working him as quickly as he could, he was frantically trying to keep his human and animal nature from being at odds.

The part of him he could hear less and less, his proper self, was horrified at what he was doing to Wright. Even as he spat heavily into his free hand and stroked it over his dripping prick, that part of him was yelling that this was _not him_. Depending on spit and the sheer power of Wright's eagerness was simply not his way of having sex. But his other part could smell the nuances of Wright's arousal, thick and heavy in the air; his other part was still going mad from that scent on the coat not far from them.

Eventually, all he could think was, _this is my mate_ , and _because he is, he will take me_ , and he only had the mind to spit on his dick one last time.

Letting his weight rest heavily on Wright's back, he crossed his arms under his mate's chest, drawing him tight against his body. His first several thrusts were just crude, animal motions, rutting against Wright's crack in a frenzy. Needy and desperate, he actually whined then. _Pathetic_ , he thought in the back of his mind. He was pathetic like this. Yet Wright seemed to notice nothing more than the novelty of Edgeworth's crazed passion, and, with a breathy laugh, he finally reached back to guide Miles' cock in himself.

He froze and panted for a moment. The pleasure was bordering on agony, with Wright so incredibly tight, and with merely saliva between them. Absently, he heard Wright brokenly groan his name. What was human of him was terrified, but the part of him that was in control just laid still, nuzzling the back of Wright's neck as if to mark with scent, and waiting. When Wright began pressing back, urging him on with incomprehensible words, he curled his arms tighter and started fucking him in quick, rhythmless thrusts.

It was rough and fast. Every jerking motion brought his hips slapping hard against Wright, every thrust had Wright moaning low and scratching for purchase at the tile. It was the harshest, most inhuman, least finessed sex he'd ever had.

And if Wright's noisy shouts and how quick he shot against the tile were any indication, Phoenix loved every single minute.

With Wright's wild orgasmic contractions, it didn't take Miles long to follow. He rutted a few times more, buried his teeth rough into Phoenix' shoulder when the instinct to _hold_ and _own_ got too powerful, and sank himself deep. He came hard, growling, the bright copper tang of his mate's blood between his teeth.

When he finally came around, it was to Wright speaking again. It felt comfortable and right to stay buried in him, and he was slow to realize he was gently licking the mark on Wright's shoulder. The syllables of Wright's voice seemed to float over him a few times before he could grasp them and string them into sense.

" _Miles_ , you aren't exactly light. Come on," Wright complained again. Edgeworth wondered how long he'd been protesting.

Shaking himself, he carefully pulled away. It was impossible to miss Wright's hiss of discomfort, and he had to suppress a strange primal need to _lick him_ , to check for injuries and _groom_. He sat back shakily on to the floor and urged Wright to slump against him rather than on the cold tile.

He _wanted_ to be more concerned, but Wright had the most endearingly clumsily post-orgasmic kisses, and he was soon too busy trying to avoid having his nose jarred by Wright's. After a while, Wright leaned his forehead tiredly against Edgeworth's.

He'd almost come back to himself and had nearly remembered the English for "did I hurt you?" as opposed to the inquisitive, gentle rub of his face against Wright's neck (which, he thought absently, didn't translate quite as well when neither party had a muzzle) when Phoenix spoke up.

"Okay, that was... Uh, I don't think there are words for how _completely mind-blowing_ that was," he said, grinning brightly. "Where'd that even come from?"

Edgeworth couldn't trust his voice quite yet, and looked aside, licking his lips. He was mortified that he could still taste blood. Wright seemed to take his silence merely as embarrassment, however, and forged on.

"Seriously, Miles. Don't get me wrong, sex is always great with you. But honestly, it's nice to see you cut loose and give into your animal side like that. You don't always have to be so proper."

What typical Wright: bumbling so close to the truth while still remaining completely oblivious.

"I'm sorry," he said honestly. Though Wright looked curiously at him, he could find nothing more to add in explanation. Wright was so dogged, it was nearly impossible to lie to him even when Miles had all of his usual mental facilities, and he was still only slowly murking through to his usual self.

After a somewhat awkward stretch, Phoenix apparently gave up on further comment and just shrugged. "There's really nothing to be sorry about," he said finally, rubbing the back of his neck, "Unless you have rabies, I guess."

Miles winced. He supposed it was at least good fortune that his... _condition_... wasn't spread by the idiotic means suggested by children's fairytales, but need Wright make such ridiculous comments? Assured that despite his previous concern, Wright was well enough to behave in his usual aggravating manner, Miles nudged at him gently.

"Assuming your claims about drunken tofu are legitimate," he said blithely, feeling more clear-headed for the smell of sex in the air, "I believe the cure is getting cold."

\---

Phoenix was understandably exhausted, as was Miles, to be honest. In a conciliatory mood, Edgeworth allowed previously unheard-of practice of bringing food into his bed. Watching Wright eat was as nauseating as ever--how any human could shovel food away in such an uncivilized manner was beyond him--and he was glad when they finished off the take-out without the slightest sheet-staining incident. Although Edgeworth was certain that the temporary lift on the food-in-bed ban would arouse Wright's suspicions that something was not normal that night, Phoenix seemed contented enough to immediately and happily pass out after they finished, leaving Miles with the empty cartons.

With Wright asleep, he quietly slipped from the bed. Watching Wright's sprawled, lightly snoring body, hair stuck at even-odder-than-usual angles and that darkening bruise on his shoulder from the bite, Miles was struck with another wave of possessive affection. Taking a deep breath, he managed to shake himself.

It wouldn't do to leave the cartons in the bedroom, after all, he thought as he headed to the kitchen. Besides, though he would still have to look in to who-- _what_ \--Wright was coming into contact with later, for now he knew one thing.

He was sure, as cheap as Wright's fashion sense was, that suit was machine washable.


End file.
